Yes the absence has been long, but let me explain. I've literally have not had the energy or desire to edit and post pictures for the blog. The funny part of all this is that I have outfits that I've shot that are worth at least 3 more blog posts. I just have felt so lost. As some of you may know from one of my Instagram posts from about 3 months ago, that my father passed away. Now I know that life goes on and that we all must push forward at some point, but I feel empty, creatively, without my dad. He was the biggest supporter of this little blog of mine. He would always ask how it's going and understand the all nighters I would pull just to get a post up on time. He was also the one person I could talk to about anything in the world. From mythology and philosophy (that's where he got my name, wife of Socrates, he was a bit obsessed in his college days) to politics and personal gains and loss. I mean, the man was my Human American History book , for the late 1930s til the present. I keep thinking how do I move on without this man, This is the man whose knees I made bad by climbing on them while learning to walk, the man who taught me how to ride a bike, bought me my first pair of roller-skates because I wanted to be a professional figure skater (it was my fave sport as a preteen, don't judge me), the man who always told me that anything was possible if I just W.O.R.K.ed (Willingness, Obedience, Righteousness, & Kindness) hard enough and believed.
There are many days where sleeping the day away is just all I want to do, because it numbs the pain. It's so crazy. My dad was 85 years old, I was born to him and my mother at the age of 55. He always explained to me and my siblings, that death was a natural part of life. He always wanted us to be prepared for the day he would leave us. So many jokes about how he was living on "borrowed time" and not to worry about him. Logically I knew that the day would eventually come but, my heart never wanted it to. I would joke and tell him that he would live to be 100 and then some. Growing up I was his shadow, and had to go everywhere he went. Everyday I wish I could here him call me by any of the nicknames he gave me.
To my father, Hubert Marcel Fedison, I will always be your "skinny minnie", your "Olive Oil", and your Mookie!
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